


The Hardest Part of This Is Leaving You

by amneria



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: All My Sons, Angst, Cancer, Death, Depression, Gen, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Major Illness, Major character death - Freeform, One Shot, Sad, Sad Ending, Terminal Illnesses, but this is some real good shit, i wanna see all you people cry, inspired by the song cancer, ok well it did take me like 3 weeks to write, tbh i can only write sad things, we gonna get really depressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:44:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8173760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amneria/pseuds/amneria
Summary: Hours in the hospital turned into days and weeks. Tyler’s room became overflowing with flowers and cards, well wishes from fans and friends who wanted him to get better, who needed him to survive. But Tyler lost his voice and his hair fell out. A short fic based on twenty one pilots' cover of "Cancer".





	

It was the fifth time this month Tyler's been hospitalized. The first was because of a cold. The second and third time was because he fainted. The fourth time was because he fell and couldn't stop bleeding. This time it's because his kidneys were failing.

  


Tyler knew he was going to die.

  


He lays in a hospital bed, engulfed by white sheets that match his skin. He tries to fix the red beanie covering his bald head but he's too weak to lift his arms.

  


"I got it Ty." A pink haired boy pulls the beanie down to fit snugly on Tyler’s head.

  


"Thanks Josh." Tyler whispers.

  


The boys sit silently, only interrupted by Tyler's bouts of coughing and the beeping of  the machines that surround the room. Josh stares at his hands, occasionally he stops twisting his fingers to wipe away a tear. The only time he’s looked at Tyler was when he first walked in; the sight of his best friend's sunken face and dull eyes sending him sobbing into the hallway.

  


“Can you read me something?” Tyler chokes out.

  


“Yeah- uh,” Josh frantically looked around the room for a book until his eyes rested on the one on the nightstand.

  


“You actually brought this?” Josh picked up a copy of All My Sons. “You really are dramatic.”

  


Tyler laughed, which brought on another bout of coughs.

  


"Ok, let's start from the beginning then."

  


Whenever an interviewer asks where they met each other, Josh and Tyler always make up a lie. Sometimes they've met in prison, other times on tinder or even one saving the other from drowning. The truth is Tyler met Josh at a twenty one pilots concert in Columbus Ohio. 

  


They spent all night talking about their hopes and dreams, their future. It was that night Tyler realized Josh would be his best friend forever. It wasn't a high school friendship with false promises of staying in touch and falling outs, but a friendship that would last through breakups, moving houses, being fired, births- 

  


And deaths.

  


“‘You want to live? You better figure out your life.’”

  


Tyler was fascinated by death. He loved daydreaming about his end, watching cars drive by and wondering what it would be like to take a few step forwards. Sometimes he wanted to die. It wasn’t always crying with a bottle of pills in one hand and a razor in the other. Sometimes it was the calm quiet of knowing what was going to come, the sound of rustling leaves and a twisted rope. He’d sit in his room, deciding whether or not his last day would be today. Sometimes he would have a date, but then change his mind and reschedule; it wasn’t just right, things had to be perfect. The scars on his arms grew deeper and the thoughts in his mind were clouded by storms. He was angry, sad, and confused, unable to think, unable to live. But he had a pen to harpoon the vile creatures that ravaged his mind, pinning them to paper. Soon the traffic became boring and the razors found their home in the trash.

  


“Chris, I want you to use what I made for you … I mean, with joy, Chris, without shame … with joy…. Because sometimes I think you’re … ashamed of the money…. Because it’s good money, there’s nothing wrong with the money.”

  


Tyler started writing songs as an outlet, molding his confusion and depression into words on a page. He liked singing these anthems of doubt and despair that he hoped would reach others. And they did. In dimly lit rooms and small bars he banged the keys of his piano and screamed the turmoil of his soul into the mic. Soon the small band from Columbus Ohio grew in popularity and shrunk in size. Together, Tyler and Josh began to play in front of hundreds of fans instead of a few drunk and horny teenager. They sold out venues in Columbus, than Ohio, than the country. These places were small but filled with energy and the desperate voices of kids who wanted to forget their troubles for a night. 

  


Soon people began to notice. 

  


Offers from labels began to roll in. Tyler still liked writing songs and playing his piano; verses dripped from his tongue and lyrics flowed through his veins. He continued to battle his demons through music and tried to fight those of his fans. No longer were the words on paper his secret liberation, but they absolved their supporters from internal damnation. The scars on this skin and hearts were soothed by the rhythm of a drum beat and the dance of fingers across ivory keys. But the Big Men in their clean cut suits wanted tunes that skimmed the surface of emotions and dragged in the masses. Tyler fought these brutes with scraggly screams and the wails of thousands of broken souls, but their ideas seeped into the chorus. The old fans, veterans of released albums and tours past, lost their way. They cried about the fall of twenty one pilots, the band that finally succumbed to the bright lights of fame. Tyler battled these beliefs, reaching out his hand to his friends drifting away. Some latched on, hearing the truth in his pleas and apologies. Twenty one pilots began to scrape the top of the atmosphere, ready to live among the stars.

  


But Tyler became sick.

  


“‘He'll come back. We all come back.”’

  


It began with Tyler forgetting to eat. At first it was overlooked, Tyler was busy, he had an excuse. But the weight began to fall off quickly, his ribs poking through his fragile skin. To ward off worry he downed cheap smoothies and bland soup since that’s all he could stomach. Soon a fatigue set in that couldn’t be offset by sleep; his eyes constantly drooping and head bobbing to the lull of slumber. But Tyler was busy, spending nights writing music and worrying, he had an excuse. Then bruises appeared, scattered across his body without his recollection of where they came from. His nose began to bleed, a daily mess that forced him to stop wearing white. He had trouble standing, trouble seeing straight, trouble playing the piano and remembering his songs. But Tyler was busy and anxious and stressed, he had an excuse. And then a simple cold almost killed him. And then the doctors found something wrong.

  


“‘Don't dear. Don't take it on yourself. Forget now. Live.’ Chris stirs as if to answer. Shhh.... She puts his arms down gently and moves toward porch. Shhh... As she reaches porch steps she begins sobbing.”

  


Tyler was dying. His tan skin turned porcelain as the blood in his veins set his body of fire and his body withered. Interviews were cancelled, concerts postponed, and Tyler was banned from the studio. He tried to write songs, to continue living, but scrambled lyrics flowed from Tyler’s mind making nonsense on the page. His fingers bruised from the taut strings of the ukulele and his voice muted by exhaustion. Hours in the hospital turned into days and weeks. Tyler’s room became overflowing with flowers and cards, well wishes from fans and friends who wanted him to get better, who needed him to survive. But Tyler lost his voice and his hair fell out. 

  


Josh shut the book as the nurses rushed in to the sound of a flatline, the pages being warped by his falling tears. He knew Tyler couldn’t hear what he was saying a few pages in, but he continued reading, unable to look up at dying his best friend. Now the body of a frail boy lays in the bed before him. Josh wonders how soon it will be until his skin is cold and his limbs stiff. Tyler is gone, no longer there to sing to the crowd of crying fans whose brains try to kill them. No longer there to kiss his mom or hold hands with his wife. No longer there to comfort Josh when he thinks things are too much and wants to hide from the world. No longer there to laugh with Josh or play games with Josh or call Josh or text Josh or hug Josh or protect Josh. No longer there to be his best friend.

  


Josh sits alone in an empty hospital room surrounded by cards and flowers. In one hand he holds a damp book and in the other he holds a red beanie. The nurses tell him to leave, to go home and rest, but he can’t move from the chair. He stays in the room, his body frozen and mind numb, only knowing he’s alive because of the rapid beating of his heart. Josh wants to travel back in time, to the days before Tyler fell ill, before everything went wrong and Josh was left alone, but he can’t and he knows it. He knows it.

  


“Hey” a hand touches Josh’s shoulder. He turns to see Jenna, her eyes red and face stained with fresh tears.

  


“Let’s go home.”

  


Jenna takes the book and beanie from Josh and grabs his hand. Together they walk out of the room that once held a fragile boy with big dreams and an even bigger heart. As the cold Ohio air hits his skin, Josh decides he no longer wants to play the drums.

  



End file.
